


An Outlet

by kiyala



Series: Deadweight [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enjolras being terrible, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Organized Crime, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:00:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1322464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire can see that Enjolras needs an outlet for his anger before he goes and does something stupid. So Grantaire plays punching bag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Outlet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jayeinacross](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jayeinacross/gifts).



Grantaire wakes up to the smashing of glass and sits up in bed with a groan, dragging a hand over his face and wincing at the bristle of his stubble.

He hasn't had enough sleep to deal with this. He will _never_ have enough sleep to deal with this.

Enjolras is in the middle of a rant as Grantaire makes his way downstairs. The smashed glass is still littered across the floor and Combeferre isn't even trying to calm him down. Never a good sign. The last thing Enjolras will want to deal with right now is Grantaire being… well, _Grantaire_ , so he slinks towards the back of the room, staying out of Enjolras' line of sight. Courfeyrac is absent, Grantaire notices, which is no longer as strange as it used to be, but it still unsettles Grantaire every time. The door to the balcony is open and Grantaire walks towards it, half paying attention to Enjolras yelling about back-stabbing business partners and all the money and time that it's cost them.

Courfeyrac is pacing the balcony and smoking. He looks stressed and Grantaire doesn't blame him. When they'd started out, it was Courfeyrac who calmed Enjolras down. Combeferre would balance Enjolras out but it was always Courfeyrac who would convince him that violence wasn't always necessary. Lately, as their work becomes more dangerous and the cost of failure rises even higher, not even Courfeyrac has been able to manage to talk Enjolras back down to consider their nonviolent options. Not even Combeferre can change Enjolras' mind these days but unlike Combeferre, Courfeyrac sees this as a failing on his own part. He blames himself, stresses himself out, and it brings them here, with Courfeyrac pacing and smoking and Grantaire watching him silently.

Turning, Courfeyrac meets Grantaire's gaze and pauses. Grantaire doesn't miss the way Courfeyrac tenses and knows that he wouldn't if it had been anyone other than Grantaire standing there. _Good_ , Grantaire thinks to himself. It's his reputation of saying things as he sees them that makes Courfeyrac cautious with him in situations like these. It may not be the wisest reputation to cultivate, but it's his all the same.

"So, what's crawled up his highness' arse today?" 

"Don't," Courfeyrac warns. "Don't call him that. Not when there's even the slightest chance that he might hear you. He's not in the mood to deal with that right now."

Grantaire glances over his shoulder and even though he can't see inside from where he's standing, he can still hear Enjolras yelling. Not all of his words are clear but his anger is and Grantaire supposes that's the important thing anyway. 

"He needs an outlet," Grantaire mutters. He hears Courfeyrac suck in a sharp breath and adds, "Preferably one that doesn't end with another body in the Seine." 

Courfeyrac lets out a small, strangled laugh. "Not like it's Enjolras who puts them there. That's Combeferre and Joly."

"It's Enjolras," Grantaire replies. "Nothing happens on our side of Paris without it being _Enjolras_. Bahorel and Feuilly nab someone from their bed in the middle of the night to have a nice private chat? That's Enjolras. Joly bleeds someone out when they're not worth keeping alive? Enjolras. You sleep, drink, piss? Enjolras is pulling the strings, making you dance."

"I'm not a puppeteer." 

Grantaire is proud of the way he doesn't immediately tense up at Enjolras' voice. He turns around slowly, cocky grin firmly in place. Enjolras' expression is stormy and Grantaire pretends that it doesn't scare him.

"Ah, you've deigned to join the peasants. No offense intended, Courfeyrac. _Peasant_."

"Grantaire," Courfeyrac protests, looking uncomfortable.

"Courfeyrac, a word?" Combeferre speaks up from behind Enjolras, giving him an escape. Courfeyrac takes it gladly, side-stepping Enjolras, who has his entire attention fixed on Grantaire. 

Grantaire welcomes it, because he is the most fucked up kind of masochist there is. 

" _Deigned_ ," Enjolras repeats and Grantaire could probably write entire volumes about how he adores the way that Enjolras can mak even the most innocuous word sound dangerous. 

Right now, Enjolras is danger personified. Grantaire's seen him like this before. He wouldn't even hesitate to say that they see Enjolras like this a lot. It's something the others tend to tiptoe around but to Grantaire, Enjolras has never seemed like the sort of person who would need or appreciate being treated gently. 

Besides, if Enjolras is danger, that would make Grantaire the personal embodiment of bad decisions. He's good at those.

Enjolras needs an outlet. Well, it's not like Grantaire's doing anything else right now anyway.

"Yes, your highness. Didn't think you'd lower yourself to my level, now."

Enjolras takes a deep breath and fixes Grantaire with a look that would make him quail, if not for the fact that he knows what's coming next and is completely prepared for it. Well. As prepared for it as he can be. "Say that again."

Grantaire thinks he hears somebody say, _Grantaire, don't_ , and it's most likely Courfeyrac. He'll have to apologise later. For now, he plasters a big smile on his face and says, "Your highness—"

He doesn't get any further than that because Enjolras grabs the front of his shirt and yanks hard. There is no fist waiting to meet his face, however, which surprises Grantaire a little. Enjolras is trying to be composed and perhaps that's because they're in front of everyone, or perhaps he doesn't _want_ to lash out but the fact of the matter is that he will and Grantaire is going to make himself the target because someone is going to end up getting hurt and it might as well be Grantaire, rather than another body for Combeferre to get rid of, another trail for Courfeyrac to cover up. Enjolras doesn't kill his own men, not without good reason, and if Grantaire hasn't been shot in the head for being a little shit yet, it's probably not something he needs to worry about.

"Come with me," Enjolras says coldly, not letting go of Grantaire as he walks back into the large hall. He ignores the stunned looks that the others give them and Grantaire tries to do the same. It doesn't work. Joly and Bossuet both look like they're going to speak up but that's only going to make matters worse and it ruins Grantaire's plan of making sure that the entirety of Enjolras' anger is directed at him. He gives his friends an exaggerated wink as he's dragged past, but they only look even more worried.

Grantaire can't exactly blame them. This ranks monumentally high on his list of bad decisions. Then again, there has to be a reason that he's still allowed around here. This might be it. Least he can do is make a good punching bag.

He stumbles up the staircase and Enjolras' grip on the front of his shirt tightens, almost to the point of choking. His knuckles brush against the soft skin of Grantaire's throat and it's this, rather than the certainty that he's going to be beaten up, that makes Grantaire's heart begin to pound. Enjolras doesn't even spare a glance towards him, dragging him up the stairs and to the first room that he finds, empty because everyone else is downstairs. 

"You might—" Grantaire staggers backwards when Enjolras lets go of his shirt to close the door behind them. "You might want to take your jacket off. Wouldn't want to get blood on it."

Enjolras' eyebrows draw together. "Why would I get blood on it?"

"I assumed you'd hit me hard enough."

Enjolras' frown deepens. "I'm not going to hit you, Grantaire."

This time, it's Grantaire's turn to frown. "What—?"

"Is that what you expected me to do?" Enjolras asks disbelievingly. "You thought that I dragged you all the way up here to _hit_ you?"

"Well…" Grantaire shrugs. "Yes?"

" _Why_?"

"Everyone could see it downstairs, Enjolras, you were working yourself up to doing something incredibly violent and I figured that sooner or later, you'll end up deciding that you're killing the guys who didn't hold up their end of the deal."

"Why wouldn't I?" Enjolras snaps. "They betrayed my trust, Grantaire. You know what happens when people betray my trust."

"Yeah, and I also know what happens when you walk right into a trap. They backstabbed you, Enjolras, don't you think they're going to be expecting you to storm in seeking revenge?" Grantaire sighs quietly because _of course_ Enjolras doesn't think about these things when he's angry. "Look, if they decided not to hold up their end of the deal, that means they're not afraid of you. That means that they're going to be waiting for you. Wait them out."

"I don't _want_ to wait them out," Enjolras replies. "I want to make them pay."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Grantaire mutters, and punches Enjolras in the face.

Enjolras' retaliating punch is hard enough to have Grantaire seeing stars. He staggers backwards, blinking and is purposefully too slow to block his next punch. 

"You're trying my patience," Enjolras growls, grabbing Grantaire by the front of his shirt again.

Grantaire grins. "All part of the plan, your highness."

Enjolras pushes him to the floor. "You'll stop calling me that, if you know what's good for you."

This draws a quiet laugh from Grantaire. He _doesn't_ know what's good for himself, but at least he knows that this will be good for Enjolras. That's all that matters.

He doesn't stop.

Enjolras tears into him, punching, kicking, taking all of his frustration out on Grantaire until he's a bleeding heap on the floor, taking shallow, raspy breaths and making quiet, involuntary sounds of pain with every inhale. Enjolras stands over him, knuckles bruised and bleeding, shoulders trembling as the anger slowly leaves him.

"Oh, fuck, Grantaire," he says softly, kneeling down beside him. " _Fuck_. I'm so sorry." 

It's more than Grantaire had been expecting and he smiles, trying not to wince at the pain of his split lip. "Told you that you should have taken your jacket off."

"I hurt you." Enjolras sounds upset and no, this is unexpected. This hadn't been part of the plan at all. "Grantaire, I—you could have beaten me in that fight. Easily. You could have stopped me, and you didn't. Why?"

"Do you still feel like walking into someone else's house while having no idea about what might be waiting for you on the other side of the door, just to teach someone a lesson _now_ instead of waiting and planning?"

Enjolras exhales loudly through his nose. "No."

"No," Grantaire repeats, and shuts his eyes. "Worth it."

"Don't—" Enjolras touches Grantaire's forehead, just briefly. "Don't close your eyes. I'm going to get Combeferre."

"Not going anywhere soon," Grantaire replies, but that only ends up upsetting Enjolras even more. He sighs quietly to himself and listens to Enjolras' hurried footsteps as he walks away, opening the door and leaving the room. 

There's the murmur of voices downstairs and two pairs of footsteps coming towards him, even faster than before.

"Oh, Enjolras," Combeferre's voice comes from the doorway. He walks into the room and kneels down to look at Grantaire. "This really wasn't one of your best ideas, was it?"

Grantaire grins up at him in reply. 

"I'm going to take you to your room so you can lie down while I patch you up," Combeferre tells him. "If you aren't comfortable with Enjolras helping me move you, let me know and I'll get somebody else."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Grantaire asks, slowly turning his head in Enjolras' direction.

Enjolras looks incredibly guilty. He hesitates to walk over, even when Grantaire beckons. "I _hurt you_."

"I asked you to," Grantaire replies, hissing in pain as Enjolras and Combeferre both lift him. "I provoked you. Deliberately."

"Can this conversation wait until you are lying down, at the very least?" Combeferre asks, as they slowly carry him out of the room.

The first thing that Grantaire notices is that there is nobody else in sight. He peers over the railing to look downstairs, but there's nobody there either. 

"Courfeyrac talked everybody into changing locations," Combeferre says, following Grantaire's gaze. "He had a feeling that things might get… messy."

"Was _everybody_ expecting me to hit Grantaire?" Enjolras asks, frustrated.

Combeferre and Grantaire both remain silent. Enjolras sighs angrily, but doesn't push the matter. 

Grantaire groans in relief once he's finally lying down and Enjolras hovers at his bedside, looking over at Combeferre.

"Is there anything you need me to do?"

"Stay with him while I get my kit," Combeferre says. "Make sure that he doesn't fall asleep. You may as well have that conversation now."

Enjolras nods, waiting for Combeferre to leave before he turns back to Grantaire. 

"You are one of us," Enjolras tells him with fierce conviction. "You are as much a part of this organisation as any one of us. I would never hurt you, Grantaire. Never, in my right mind. I lost control and I am ashamed—"

"Enjolras," Grantaire interrupts. "I would rather you lose control in this way than in any other. I don't care that you hit me."

"You should," Enjolras replies. " _I_ care that I hit you. I swear to you, Grantaire. I _swear_ that this is never going to happen again."

It becomes a regular occurrence. 

Grantaire keeps an eye on Enjolras, which is nothing out of the ordinary anyway. As soon as he notices that Enjolras is building up too much anger and frustration, and is about to release it in a way that will only endanger him, Grantaire steps in. He teases, he irritates, he provokes, because these are the things he's good at. He tries and tries and if none of his methods work, he throws the first punch. It's the only punch Grantaire ever gets in, partly because he doesn't really _try_ to hit Enjolras again, partly because Enjolras doesn't give him an opening anyway.

Combeferre will patch him up, discretely, while Courfeyrac directs everyone to a different part of the mansion. There are few secrets they can keep from each other when they all live under the same roof, but everyone politely ignores the fact that at least twice a month, Grantaire provokes Enjolras into beating him until he can barely stand. They all know exactly why Grantaire's doing it, and it's not as though any of them have a better alternative. 

Except one day when they're fighting, Grantaire is on the floor and trying to sit up, and Enjolras places his foot in the middle of Grantaire's chest to push him back down. 

" _Fuck_ ," Grantaire moans as his back hits the floor, looking up to see the fleeting panic in Enjolras' eyes before he realises that it isn't a moan of pain. 

"Grantaire?" Enjolras asks and fuck, fuck, Grantaire has completely fucked everything up this time. "Did you—enjoy that?"

Grantaire squeezes his eyes shut and sighs quietly, all too aware of the fact that he's spread out on the floor in front of Enjolras. The answer to his question is apparent enough. 

"I would really prefer you kicking me over discussing this," he mutters. 

"We're discussing this," Enjolras says firmly, because _of course they are_. He kneels down. Because Grantaire is the butt of some grand cosmic joke, Enjolras decides to kneel astride his legs. "You enjoy this."

Grantaire snorts. "Did you think so highly of me that you assumed I was doing this without there being anything in it for me?"

Enjolras frowns, leaning over and placing his hands on either side of Grantaire's head. This close, Grantaire can feel Enjolras' breath against his own lips. It makes his breath stutter and there's only so much of this Grantaire can take. He moves suddenly, using his momentum to throw Enjolras off him and to the side. It almost works, if not for the fact that Enjolras rolls them over again, so that Grantaire is on his back, their bodies pressed closer than before. 

"Stay down until I tell you otherwise," Enjolras growls, and sinks his teeth into Grantaire's neck.

Grantaire moans, louder this time, and Enjolras does it again. His bites are hard, unforgiving, _angry_. Enjolras is still angry and he takes it out on Grantaire now with the slow roll of his hips. Grantaire forgets how to breathe as he realises that Enjolras is hard too.

"Say no," Enjolras says, right against Grantaire's ear. "Say no, and I'll stop. I'll leave."

"Yes," Grantaire gasps instead, and Enjolras rocks their hips together again. He trails biting kisses across all of Grantaire's neck, his jaw, moving against him in reward for every moan. " _Yes_."

Enjolras takes hold of Grantaire's leg, wrapping it around his waist as they grind against each other harder. They kiss messily and Grantaire hisses in pain as Enjolras bites his lips too. 

"I enjoy it too," Enjolras mutters against Grantaire's swollen mouth. "I hate that I do, but I—after we help you to bed and bandage your wounds, Grantaire, I go to my office, lock myself in there—"

" _Fuck_." Grantaire's voice cracks over the word as Enjolras picks up his pace. "Why wait until your office?"

"Why indeed." Enjolras presses his lips to Grantaire's jaw. "Will you scream my name as you come?"

"I'll do anything you want," Grantaire tells him breathlessly.

"Let me hear it," Enjolras says and Grantaire does, screaming it loud enough that his throat aches a little. Yet another secret that they will all pretend to keep.

"Good, Grantaire," Enjolras murmurs, rutting against Grantaire's leg, gasping quietly in pleasure until he comes with a low groan. "Good."

They slowly part, and Grantaire doesn't know what to do with himself. He's providing an outlet for Enjolras, he reminds himself. Nothing more. At least this time, he only aches a little from their short fight before. His legs tremble a little as he stands, but that has nothing to do with the pain. 

"I think I'll manage without Combeferre this time," he says, keeping his tone light. Enjolras is sitting up on the floor, but not looking at him. "You remembered to take your jacket off this time, but I'm afraid you've ruined your pants."

"I'll buy more," Enjolras replies with a shrug, like it doesn't even bother him.

Grantaire leaves, because he has nothing else to say. Because if he stays, he will start saying things he doesn't want to.

"Grantaire," Enjolras calls softly, when Grantaire opens the door. He waits until they're looking at each other before speaking again. "I much prefer when you can leave the room on your own."

Not knowing what to make of that, Grantaire simply nods and leaves. Outside, there's nobody in sight, as usual. He walks to his own room, stripping out of his pants and shirt, not bothering to put new ones on as he crawls into bed. He'll be left alone for a while. Hopefully, Combeferre won't come to see why he hasn't been summoned yet. 

He feels worse than any time he and Enjolras have fought, but he supposes that it's his own stupid fault.


End file.
